The Safety In Numbers
by galaxic
Summary: Amidst collapsing buildings and shrill sirens a handful of souls try to find their way through life. Their fight with the past is hardly over when they unleash their battle with the future. Can broken minds learn to forgive? Can bleeding hearts bear the weight of love? A home for the wandering isn't always that far off. After all, there is safety in numbers.


**_This story starts after Lisa joins Nine and Twelve, but before the train bombing. It will stay close to canon at first, but gradually go its own way._**  
**_Twelve x Lisa_**  
**_I am not a native English speaker, please disregard or correct my mistakes._**  
**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**_"Morning Bird"_**

* * *

Burn. It's burning. The heat engulfs him. His head is ringing. White hot flashes pain his eyes. He presses his hands against his face. He gasps for air. A scream fades in the distance. But it returns, louder. Ashes are filling his lungs; he tastes them in his mouth. He chokes on then. In his chest his heart is beating insanely. His ribs seem to collapse, bending tighter and tighter around him with every wheezing attempt to catch his breath. Mingled screams send violent shivers down his spine. He tries to shake his head, wrap his arms around him in defence, but the fright comes from within. Between the tattered cries for help he catches a familiar voice.

"Nine?" The sound barely reaches him, light like a feather. The burning sensation turns into tingling. A thick layer of ashes and dirt coats his tongue. He tries to swallow and gags. Everything grows silent. He blinks, tears sticking to his eyelashes.

"Nine?" It's sharper now, next to him. He can hear his own rapid breathing. A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead. His nails are digging into the bedsheets. He relaxes his arms. Twelve sighs softly. A cold hand touches his forehead. For a while he stares at the ceiling, unaware of time and place, which brings along a quietness within him. The darkness of the room is gentle to his eyes.

Twelve speaks. The words that come out sound foreign and far off. A wave of heat rolls over his body, followed by a shiver. Suddenly the noise is sharp. He props himself up, still shivering, and looks at Twelve. Their faces are merely inches apart. He doesn't see anything in Twelve's eyes. Only familiarity. He can't tell whether Twelve is concerned or tired or happy. But he's there. Nine allows him to push him back into bed.

All noises fall back into place. There's rain tapping the window and clocks ticking rhythmically. One second, two seconds; it must be early morning. The bed creaks beneath him. With his trembling hand he wipes off the sweat on his forehead and runs his fingers through his hair. His cheeks are stinging. The only taste left in his mouth is the one of blood.

"Twelve," He mumbles. Though there's nothing he wants to tell him. He just wants Twelve to know. To hear, maybe even to understand. But understand what? He doesn't know either.

The silence lingers but Nine's eyelids are light. He pushes himself up again and slides his legs off the bed. His blankets are lying on the ground; Twelve turns to pick them up. He walks past him and splashes some water onto his face. The cold bites into his skin. He runs his fingers down his face and neck and chest. He tries to chase away the heat that seems to flow through his veins like lava. Another few minutes pass before his fingers finally grow numb because of the icy water.

The red letters on his alarm clock tell him it is 3:28 in the morning. Ever since they settled in this apartment he made a specific rule that only applies to himself. It is unwritten nor does he ever speak about it. It says the following: He can't wake up anyone before five in the morning, unless in case of an emergency, or if it was planned beforehand. Each time he breaks the rule he has to add six minutes to the limit. And for every night he does not break the rule, he can shorten it with three minutes, up until it returns to the original five am. In all honesty, it is a fairly pointless rule, mainly because of its unnecessary detailed timing, but he keeps himself to it. Routines, rules, rewards and punishments were always an important part in his life. Letting go of it is harder than he likes to admit, but at least he doesn't deny that he doesn't _want_ to let them go. Tomorrow he will have to stay in bed until 5:48am.

Twelve is already back in bed, tossing and turning still, but less with every passing minute. Nine sits down in the couch. He picks up his laptop from the coffee table and opens it. There is nothing urgent to do, but he opens a program anyway. For a moment his fingers linger above the keyboard. He swallows thickly and stares at the screen as the night starts slipping away. Without a second thought he stands up and moves to the bathroom with his laptop. He closes the door silently behind him, opens a window and sits down on the tiled floor before returning to his laptop. Perhaps he could hack into the police department files. He wonders whether they still update them, knowing that Sphynx has access to a great amount of digitally stored information.

Despite his light-headedness, he forces himself to concentrate. It doesn't take much effort since he's used to it. Gradually, his mind becomes a table of numbers and codes, of binary and hexadecimals, of links and syntax. Until there's nothing else left and he quietly blanks out.

After having ran through several files and systems and having found his way into a handful of newly and strongly protected files, he straightens himself. His mind disconnects from the laptop and he feels out of place, suddenly surrounded by the world outside of his laptop. It's as if he didn't have a physical form for a while. As if he forgot that he was in fact a person, with a pumping heart, an empty stomach and sweaty hands. The wall pains his back and his hands are strained from typing. His eyes feel hard and overused. Slowly but surely it is growing brighter outside. A breath of early morning moves the shower curtains. It's significantly colder than before.

There are still eight minutes left before he can wake up anyone. He stands up and closes the window. Without making any noise, he slips out of the bathroom. In the living room he is embraced with sleepy warmth, as if he walked back into the night. He stretches himself lazily. The floor doesn't feel as cold as it usually does and he looks at his bare feet. His fingers too are numbed out. He puts his laptop back on the coffee table and silently lies down on his bed, on top of the blankets. The cold keeps him from falling asleep, from the burn of his dreams.

* * *

The sun has risen a while ago. From her room, Lisa can hear Nine and Twelve speaking in hushed voices. She can't make out any words. There is no clock in the room. Her cell phone is still in the bathroom, where she forgot it when she showered yesterday. No one wakes her up. She doesn't know whether she should get up already or wait. Both Nine and Twelve tend to get up early. Twelve insists she sleeps out. Nine ignores her. He doesn't care. She turns to face the wall. Perhaps if she won't get up one day they will forget about her. They won't peek into the room to check whether she's alright and if they do they might just sigh in relief when she's gone. How she wishes to sink away in the mattress. To be gone. She fled from one prison into another. A shaky breath leaves her lips. She presses her face into her pillow. Hard. Is it ungrateful from her side to think about it that way? What is she saying, doesn't she have all the freedom of the world now? It's not like Twelve or Nine are holding her back. It's all too obvious their death threats are but shallow words. The barking dogs that don't bite. The exploding bombs that don't kill. She turns onto her back, gasping for air. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, smothering the sound.

Why was she still feeling so _awful_?

"Good morning," She greets the others in a hushed voice, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She closes the door behind her, resting her eyes on the two boys in the couch. They are both bent over Nine's laptop, while he points at some things on the screen and mutters short words underneath his breath. Twelve nods, then perks up and with a smile he greets her. It makes her smile too; she can't help it. It makes her feel a little lighter.

Nine keeps his eyes on the screen for a few more seconds, remaining in his position like a statue, before he stiffly straightens himself. Without casting her a glance he picks up his coffee and takes a sip. She scratches her shoulder. The lightness that lifted a weigh off her chest and allowed her to breathe disappears again.

"Did you sleep well at night?" Twelve asks, seemingly unaware of the tightness in her stomach and dullness in her eyes.

She shrugs and offers him a crooked smile. "Yes, I slept well at night."

He stands up and holds up his empty mug of coffee, pointing at it with raised eyebrows. "You want some too?"

Even though she never drank coffee before she agrees. Tea was her preferred hot beverage, but she can't bring herself to go back on it now. She follows Twelve into the kitchen, avoiding to be alone with Nine.

"You know, the human language is fascinating," Twelve begins to explain as he grabs her a mug. "Did you know for example that people tend to repeat the exact set of words when they lie?" He fills her cup with mint tea and adds a spoon of honey. "They would sooner say things like "No, I did not eat the three last cookies" instead of "I didn't eat them", funny, don't you think?"

Her cheeks heat up and she immediately faces the ground. It was a shame how obvious it must have been. Twelve only chuckles and puts down her cup. He reaches out for her arm.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," He tries.

Now she definitely doesn't dare to look up, feeling him stand so near her. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"You don't have to apologize," He quickly waves it off, "I suppose most people don't really pay such attention to detail. It's my fault, if anything."

The two of them return to the living room. Nine closes his laptop, then gives Lisa a disapproving look. She bites her lip and glances at Twelve, who cocks his head at Nine.

"Doesn't it bother you that you look like that?" Nine asks with a raised eyebrow. Twelve too now casts a frown towards her. The redness must have barely left her face and now it is already returning.

It is true that her appearance is rather lacking, as she hadn't taken care of it properly for a while now. That instance she grows hyperaware of her worn nightdress, unshaved legs and messy hair.

"You know, that's our fault, Nine. She hardly has any clothing or supplies here." Twelve rubs his chin pensively.

"That's not our fault," Nine comments coldly, not leaving any space for a reply.

Twelve licks his lips but doesn't say anything. They stare at each other for a moment and both hold down their words. Lisa doesn't know whether they are keeping their thoughts for themselves because of her presence or not, but she wants to get away from between them.

"I'll go put on something better now," She mutters and excuses herself.

Whilst picking out her cleanest outfit, she wonders why Twelve considers her discomfort his mistake whilst Nine thinks she is none of their business. More importantly, which one does she really want? Because a home surely sounds nice but not every roof they offer over your head should be called a home. Nine is right when he says she will be in danger if she chooses to stay with them, and it's not like they're that capable of properly taking care of her. Sometimes they barely seems capable of taking care of themselves. But she had a choice, didn't she? And she was used to running now. She used to run from the classroom to the toilets to the streets to the front door to her bedroom. Running from dirty looks, hateful names, lonely hours, from the iron grip of her mother's bony hands, her mothers shrill cries. She would rather be running from terrorist threats and hear police sirens chasing her. She knew in which kind of misery she would rather get involved. And getting involved was exactly what she would be doing.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


End file.
